Like this:

Lost: One woman, fortyish,
brown hair, tall, hazel eyes,
wearing black boots, jeans,
maroon sweater. Last seen
walking toward the edge of
what she thought was
possible. Can be identified
by a freckle on her left
pinkie finger. If seen,
ask her if she found the edge.
If she says yes, tell her to go
get lost again. That any edge
she can find is an illusion.
Tell here there is no
reward for her return.

You are surely lost.
When is the last time
you knew the way home?
Was it back at that gas station
where you bought the chips
before you pulled out into the night?
Though even then the snow
was hurling its white fists into your lights.
But that was before your heart started
leaping like a startled deer into the
oncoming lane of your throat.
Oh darling, who are you kidding.
You were already lost even then.
Sure you could have pointed
to a dot on the map and said,
Exit 179, Here I am. But that
is just the game we play.
Something to satisfy our jumpy brains.
You have been lost since the day
you first could say your name,
the moment you knew yourself
as other, as separate, as something
that could be lost. Sometimes,
like now, when you think you
don’t know where you are,
see if you can lose a little more.
Your certainty. Your words. Your ideas.
Your shame. And maybe then,
off the map, out of hope, exposed
and unknowing, maybe that
is home.

Like this:

Not once did I think I was lost today
in the trees, but part of me wished
I were lost. It wasn’t the lost part so much
I was craving, but the thrill of feeling found.

Once I was lost in a strange city. I had
stepped off the tram at the stop where
the cathedral was. We were going to visit,
my mother and brother and I.
I went straight for the station’s candy stand, and stared
at the brightly wrapped sweets, then turned
to ask my mom for one. And she was not there.
Sure she had left the station, annoyed with my wanting,
I ran up the stairs toward the light
of the street. But she was not there.

Meanwhile, on the green line, my mother
had fallen asleep. Mom! said my brother,
Mom! When she woke, I was gone. She was sure
we were playing a trick. She checked under
all the seats. The adjacent cars.
She was without her ten-year-old girl in Boston.

I lost my mommy, I told the policeman.
He was standing right there on the corner.
He wiped my eyes, then took my hand
and walked me to the cathedral.
Out front, a man was having a seizure.
His arms flailed. His tongue wagged.
He flopped about on the square. Don’t worry,
the policeman said to me. He walked me right past.

At the station, the policemen gave me candy.
As much as I wanted. M & Ms and Starburst.
I told them where we were staying in the outskirts.
They drove me there with the sirens off.

And though I was not lost today,
I still had in me something of the joy
that I had on that day when I was recovered
and delivered safely, through wildly good luck.
And why not feel joy. Today is as good as any other day
to celebrate finding my way home, no matter
how well I know my way around these woods.